


Spatial Separation

by Zinnith



Series: Entangled Particles [6]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alcohol, Arguing, Entangled Particles, Established Relationship, Friendship, Funeral, Grief, M/M, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinnith/pseuds/Zinnith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>John had always seen himself as one of the good guys. Not perfect by any means, but at least not one of the creeps who lied and cheated and treated his partners badly. Now, he had been exposed to his own inner creep, and it had been something of a shock.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Spatial Separation

**Author's Note:**

> As always, love and cookies for the_cephalopod. Thank you for making this better!

John hated funerals. He hated them even more when they were held for people he had served with, people who should have had years and years of life ahead of them if it hadn't been for bullets and grenades and suicide bombers and missiles.

He hadn't known Pete Garfield well, but they had served together in Afghanistan and Pete had been one of John's silent supporters during the whole mess that resulted in him being sent him to Antarctica with a black mark on his record. Now Pete was dead too, like Mitch and Dex and Holland. John had never felt so tired in his life.

Part of it, he knew, was lack of sleep. He'd never been able to relax on a plane where he didn't know the pilot personally, and the night before he had spent arguing with Rodney.

"I can come with you," Rodney had said, tracing circles on John's naked belly with his finger. "Really, I mean it."

John had thought about meeting his old Air Force buddies with his gay lover in tow and said, "It's okay. You have that seminar you need to prepare for. I'll go alone."

"I can work on the notes on the plane. John, I _want_ to come. Unless…" Rodney had hesitated. "This isn't about that, is it? You don't want them to meet me. Are you ashamed of me?" There had been hurt in his voice, and John had felt like a royal asshole, because Rodney was right and there was no way in the world John could let him know that. Their relationship was still so new and fragile that one simple wrong word could so easily shatter it.

"I just think it would be better if I went alone," John had said, trying to sound reasonable. "We'll probably go out for a drink afterwards and talk old memories and you'd just feel out of place."

"You're ashamed of me," Rodney had said angrily, moving away. "I thought were way past the big gay freak-out. I mean, it's been _nine months_."

"I never _had_ a big gay freak-out," John had protested. That wasn't entirely true, he'd been a little freaked out for couple of hours, before he'd been distracted by Rodney's mouth and the way it could make him feel. "I seem to remember spending most of last weekend sucking your cock, does that seem like I'm freaking out to you?"

"_I_ seem to remember reciprocating rather enthusiastically", Rodney had huffed, crawling back to sit against the headboard of the bed. "But obviously I'm good enough to give you orgasms but not good enough to meet your friends."

"I'm not having this conversation with you right now," John had said and climbed out of bed, looking for his pants. "My flight leaves at seven o'clock tomorrow morning and I need to get some sleep before that. I'm going over to my place."

"Fine!" Rodney had shouted after him as he left. "Why don't you just stay there!"

It had been a mutual decision that John would keep his apartment even though he spent most of his time at Rodney's. After that first awful row they'd had, the one that almost destroyed everything before it even started, John had learned to recognize when it was time for him to move out for a couple of days, to get out of Rodney's hair and let him concentrate on his work.

Walking out on Rodney had felt wrong, but John had been too tired and worn out to have the energy to resolve the argument. He'd gone to bed as soon as he got back to his own place, but had spent all night lying awake, trying to decide whether or not he should call Rodney and make up, or if he should maybe call Pete's parents and tell them that he couldn't make it after all, or if he should just go to the funeral and wait for the whole thing to blow over.

Which was why he was now sitting curled up in his seat on the plane, trying to tune out the chatter of the two teenage-girls behind him, unable to close his eyes and replaying the argument over and over again in his head.

The problem, he decided, was that they both sucked at relationships. When it was good, it was very good, but as soon as they encountered a bump in the road, John's fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and Rodney's bad self-esteem made him defensive and everything got ugly. Communication had never been John's strong suit, and even though Rodney lived his life through his words, he had a tendency to just say whatever popped up in his head and leave for the audience to make sense of it. Sometimes John felt like he had spent the whole of the past year trying to make sense of Rodney and the thing they had together.

And now he was sitting here trying to make sense of himself. John had always seen himself as one of the good guys. Not perfect by any means, but at least not one of the creeps who lied and cheated and treated his partners badly. Now, he had been exposed to his own inner creep, and it had been something of a shock.

_You're ashamed of me._

He _wasn't_ ashamed of Rodney. If there was any justice in the world, it ought to be the other way around. Rodney was the successful one, the one with five published novels and countless awards. He was the one who got invited to speak at universities all over the world, the one with the studio apartment in Downtown Sacramento, the one with the six-figure bank account. Who was John in comparison? A crippled ex-pilot who worked part-time at a youth centre, a no-body.

_Obviously I'm good enough to give you orgasms but not good enough to meet your friends._

It wasn't like that, not at all. It was just that Sokolski and the rest of the guys wouldn't _get_ Rodney. They would mock him and laugh behind his back and jokingly ask John why he'd dragged the geek along. It was to spare _Rodney_ that John had refused to let him come.

Deciding that was enough rationalising for one day, John sat back in his seat and closed his eyes, but sleep still wouldn't come.

* * *

Laura called just as John had put on his suit and was about to call a cab to take him to Arlington. When he flipped open his cell and saw her caller ID, he almost didn't take the call, but then all kinds of scenarios started to pop into his head. Maybe something had happened to Rodney – he could've had an anaphylactic shock, or one of his blood-sugar episodes. He could've been in an accident - the man couldn't drive in a straight line if his life depended on it. Or what if something had happened to Newton? Rodney loved that cat like a child. John answered.

"Yeah?"

Laura's voice came out tinny and irritated from the other end of the line. "Why are you and Rodney fighting?"

John sighed. "Laura, I really don't have time for this. I'm gonna be late for the funeral."

"Funeral? What funeral?"

"An old buddy of mine from the Air Force. Listen, Laura, unless this is really important I'm gonna have to call you back. If I'm not sitting in a cab in two minutes…"

"Ah," Laura interrupted. "So _that's_ what Rodney was so upset about. You know, sometimes I don't even know why I bother when you two seem determined to mess up your relationship beyond repair. If you could just sit down like two adults and _talk_ to each other…"

"Call you later, say hi to Carson from me, good bye." John flipped the phone shut. Great. Now he was late _and_ feeling guilty. He loved Laura like a sister, but sometimes she really needed to stay out of other people's business.

John called the cab and hurried down the stairs, mentally wincing a little at his bad leg. He felt the change in climate like a throbbing ache, down deep into the bone.

He was sitting in the car when he got Laura's text message a couple of minutes later. _You're both a pair of morons and you deserve each other._ John sighed. It didn't seem like she was going to let it go. He turned off the cell and tucked it back into his pocket.

* * *

It was November and the air was crisp and clear as John stepped out of the cab in front of the administration building. The trees were bursting with colour. Any other day, John would probably have thought if was beautiful. Today, the dark red leaves reminded him a little too much of blood. He paid the driver and hurried over the street towards the building. He was a bit late and didn't know exactly where he was supposed to be going.

"Hey, Shep! Wait up!"

John heard the voice just as he was about to enter the administration building and turned around. There was Rudy Hawkins, good old reliable Hawk, accompanied by his wife Megan. John hadn't seen the both of them in years, not since before Antarctica and the helicopter crash and Rodney. Hawk hadn't changed one bit, still the same tall, good-natured guy. Megan was sporting a very pregnant belly underneath her coat.

"We didn't know if you'd make it," Hawk said, as the two of them came within speaking distance to John. "I have to say, it's weird to see you in a suit."

"Well, it's been a while," John answered with a smile, shaking Hawk's hand and giving Megan a kiss on the cheek. To be honest, it was a little weird to be in a suit. This was the first military funeral he hadn't attended to in uniform.

Hawk nodded solemnly. "It's a damn shame we only seem to meet at funerals these days."

"Yeah," John said. "Yeah, it is." He held the door open for them. "Shall we? We'll have plenty of time to catch up afterwards."

"Are you here on your own?" Megan asked as they walked inside. John could hear the unasked question. _Have you settled down and found a nice girl yet?_ Meg had always been a matchmaker.

"Yes," he answered. "Yes, I am. But how about you two?" he said with a gesture towards Megan's belly, trying to change the subject. "I didn't know you were expecting?"

Megan's face lighted up. "Just two months left," she said, beaming. "I'm going to look like a hippo by then."'

"An adorable hippo," Hawk countered, hugging her shoulders and then letting his hand slide down her arm to grasp her fingers.

John followed them to meet up with the rest of Pete's family and friends. He felt eerily hollow inside and he kept reaching out beside him, unconsciously waiting for another hand to find his, surprised when it never came.

* * *

Sokolski was one of those guys who would never change. He'd been in John's class at the Academy and twenty years in the service hadn't put one dent in the charming jerk. He and John had been hard on the girls back then, seeing someone new every week. To remember those times made John feel a little ashamed now. Those flings paled in comparison to what he had with Rodney. Sokolski, on the other hand, was still in the game and proud of it.

It still didn't stop John from protesting when Sokolski insisted that John and Hawk join him for a drink after they had paid their condolences to Pete's parents. Hawk sent Megan back to their hotel with promises not to stay out too late and had Sokolski snickering behind his back.

"Man, she's really got him pussy-whipped," he stage-whispered to John. John thought of something clever to respond, but his mouth had gone dry and his brain had gone empty. He knew he wasn't doing such a good job of being 'Shep' after he'd spent most of the past year being just John.

Sokolski took them to a bar a little off the beaten track. He swore the burgers were out of this world, so that was what they all ended up ordering. John and Sokolski drank beer. Hawk went straight for the hard stuff.

The burgers were excellent and they ate while exchanging memories from their Academy days, from Iraq and Afghanistan, and what had happened to the rest of the guys they used to hang out with. John hoped his helicopter crash wouldn't come up, and Hawk seemed to have noticed because he did his best to steer the conversation away as soon as Sokolski touched the subject. Good old Hawk.

"So, what are you doing these days, Shep?" Sokolski asked, using a french fry to mop up the last of his dressing. "We haven't heard from you in ages."

"I live in Sacramento," John answered absentmindedly. Just saying the name of the city made him ache for home. He started to pick on the label of his beer bottle.

"Yeah, I heard." Sokolski pushed his plate aside and reached for a toothpick. "You shacked up with that writer friend of yours. Hey, how's that working out?"

John thought about saying, _'Oh, just fine. He's the world's biggest geek, allergic to everything, obsesses over his books, fucks me through the mattress on a regular basis, and I think I'm head over heels in love him.'_ Then he decided that would probably be unwise and instead said, "It's okay."

"Great!" Sokolski said and took another gulp of his beer. Then he pounded John's back. "Heeey, California, Shep! You meet all kinds of hot girls down there, right? I bet you got a regular harem!"

"Something like that," John said. He'd have to order another beer soon. The label on this one was almost shredded.

Hawk elbowed Sokolski in the side. "Why don't you stop being an asshole, Chad," he said.

"Fuck you too," Sokolski said with a bright smile. He stood up. "I'm going to entertain the lovely ladies over there. Would any of you gentlemen care to join me?" He nodded towards the bar where a group of girls were waiting to order.

"Meg would have my balls," Hawk said, waving his wedding ring in Sokolski's face.

"You're no fun, Hawk," Sokolski replied. "Shep? _You're_ not planning on spending the night alone, are you?"

John shook his head. "I have to catch an early flight tomorrow," he said. "Maybe another time." The words left a bad taste in his mouth, but what was he supposed to say? _Sorry, my boyfriend is waiting for me back home._ He could imagine the reaction _that_ would get from Sokolski. Especially when John wasn't even sure if Rodney _was_ waiting. Maybe he had decided once and for all that John just wasn't worth the trouble? John wouldn't blame him if he had.

Sokolski muttered something borderline insulting and set off in direction of the bar. Hawk glared at his back and then shrugged his shoulders. You just couldn't stay mad at the cheerful bastard for any length of time.

John busied himself with his bottle. The label was as good as gone, leaving sticky smears of glue on the glass. He just wanted to get out of here, get back to the hotel and sleep, get back to Sacramento and make up with Rodney.

"So, Shep, how's civilian life treating you?" Hawk asked. "Glad to be out of the military?"

John wondered what he was supposed to answer, but this was Hawk, so he settled for the truth. "It's pretty good, actually," he said.

"Yeah." Hawk lit a cigarette. "To be honest with you, Shep, sometimes I want to quit too. Feels like I've given enough. Especially at times like this."

Hawk and Pete had been tight, John remembered. It was always rough, loosing a friend like that. John could all too easily recall the mess he'd been in after Mitch and Dex died. He hadn't been sober for two days. Hawk looked well on his way to the same state.

"Pete was a good guy, Hawk," he said softly. It was always so hard to find the right words in these situations. You just went with the clichés and hoped the other guy would understand the sentiments behind them.

"The best," Hawk said and held up his glass. "To Pete."

"To Pete," John echoed, clinked his mutilated beer bottle against Hawk's glass and drank. The beer was lukewarm and flat; it made him a little nauseous.

He wondered what Rodney was doing right now. Writing, probably. John hoped that he had remembered to eat and that he hadn't forgotten to turn the coffee-machine off again. Newton would be lying on top of Rodney's computer screen, peering down and watching the cursor with feline curiosity. The first time John had seen the monitor, he'd asked Rodney why he didn't get a flat screen. Rodney had looked at John like he was stupid and said, "Because a flat screen isn't big enough to accommodate a cat!"

The room was loud and filled with cigarette smoke. Sokolski was chatting up the girls over at the bar and seemed to be having some success and Hawk was getting more and more drunk. John wanted to go home.

"I'm glad you got out, Shep," Hawk said suddenly. "You… you were always too smart for this shit. Always stood up for your own. I admire that and I know Pete did too."

He was slurring his words a little. John thought it was probably time to see that he got safely back to Megan. He stood up and grabbed Hawk's arm. "Hey buddy, how about I call you a cab? Or do you want me to call Meg instead?"

"You have… you've got a good heart, Shep," Hawk murmured, swaying a little on his feet. "A good heart. I hope… you find someone who can appreciate that. God knows you deserve it."

John wondered what Hawk would say if he knew the truth. For one long dizzying moment, he wanted to tell his friend everything. Wanted to tell him about Rodney, about the way he never stopped talking, even during sex, unless John used his own mouth to shut him up. About his hypochondria that had him calling Carson every time he sneezed. The way he would sit in front of his computer for hours until his shoulders were in stiff painful knots. How much John loved working those knots out with Rodney lying belly-down on the bed, his back glistening with massage oil.

Considering the state Hawk was in, would he even remember in the morning?

In the end, John didn't say anything. He called a taxi for Hawk and then rang Meg to let her know her husband was on his way back. He waved goodbye to Sokolski, who was enjoying the company of a dark-eyed beauty by the bar, and wrestled Hawk outside and into the waiting cab. Then he started to walk.

It was probably not the smartest thing to do. Washington D.C. wasn't the safest place for a guy to walk around alone at night, but he needed to clear his head, needed to _think_. When everything became tangled up inside him, walking was what he did. Only this time, it didn't seem to help. He was still in the wrong place with the wrong people, and he didn't have a clue of how to make it right again.

When John finally limped back to his hotel it was so late it was early. He was supposed to be on the plane back to California in five hours. More than anything else he wanted to get a little sleep. Instead he collapsed into a chair and picked up his cell. He dialled Rodney's number and then his finger hovered over the call-button. He was still a little drunk and smelled of smoke and stale beer. Talking to Rodney in this state would only make him feel more rotten. He put the cell away, stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed. It was big and soft, nothing like the ergonomic nightmare Rodney called a mattress. The sheets were fresh, there was no-one snoring beside him and John had two pillows all to himself; it was all wrong and sleep wouldn't come.

* * *

By the time John was back in Sacramento, he felt half-dead. He'd tried to freshen up a little in an airport toilet, but his clothes looked like he'd slept in them, he had what appeared to be two-day stubble on his face, and the dark circles under his eyes were bad enough to scare small children. To add to the misery, his leg hurt like hell despite all the ibuprofen he'd been popping.

He briefly considered calling Laura for a ride, but decided against it. He didn't want to see her before he'd had a chance to talk to Rodney. If Rodney even wanted to talk to him.

John couldn't remember the last time he'd been this tired.

A cab brought him Downtown to Rodney's apartment building. He had thought about going home first, to shower and change into clean clothes, but he just couldn't wait. He had to _know_, had to find out if Rodney was still mad at him, had to see how much of their relationship he had messed up and how he could start fixing it.

John's key still fit in the lock to Rodney's apartment. That was a relief. If Rodney wanted to keep him out, there was no way possible way on earth John could have made his way inside the door.

When John entered, Rodney was standing in the middle of the floor, cradling Newton in his arms. He looked like he hadn't slept much more than John had. His eyes were bloodshot and John wondered if he'd been crying. If John had made him cry. He couldn't bear the thought.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm an asshole and I'm sorry." It wasn't the speech he had prepared, but he couldn't remember one word of that anyway.

Rodney let Newton down and moved his arms to hug himself. He looked so small and fragile that John just wanted to go over there, wrap Rodney in his arms and hold him until that look went away.

"I didn't know if you'd be coming back," Rodney said and even his voice sounded broken.

"I… I never really wanted to go in the first place," John answered, taking one step towards Rodney. He wondered if this was the right time to tell Rodney about his doubts, how he had felt he couldn't tell his old friends about their relationship. He _wanted_ to, wanted to come clean about _everything_, but couldn't get the words past his lips.

"I'm so bad at this", Rodney said. "I mean, I'm… I was supposed to be the supportive boyfriend, helping you though this and…and all I could think about was that it could've been you. After you crashed in Antarctica… you could've been _dead_, John, you could've been dead and I'd never had a chance to… to have this… to have you…" Rodney sank down onto the couch, as if suddenly exhausted. "I don't know how I managed before," he whispered. "I don't… that wasn't a life. It was just an existence, and then you came and… and…" he looked up, eyes wide and red and kind of frightened. "I can't lose you."

John didn't know what to say. He wished he had Rodney's way with words, that he could shape his thoughts into sentences and make them beautiful. All he knew was that he never wanted to see that look on Rodney's face again. He knelt down on the floor, reached out his hand and placed it gently on Rodney's cheek. "I'm here," he said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I can't…" Rodney repeated, his voice hoarse. "I don't know how to…"

"It's okay," John said and leaned in to kiss him. His mouth first, then both his eyelids, tasting the bitter salt of tears there, and then his forehead and his temple, tucking Rodney's face into his neck, feeling Rodney's hot breath against his throat. "It's okay."

Rodney twisted his hands in John's shirt and held on like a desperate man, like he was never going to let John go, and that was okay too.

* * *

"I'm sorry I insisted on coming with you," Rodney said a little later. They had ordered pizza and were lying on the couch watching the classic episodes of Battlestar Galactica (Rodney still had a hard time accepting that they had turned Starbuck into a _girl_ in the remake). "I shouldn't have made such a big deal out of it. It's just… I wonder sometimes. I guess I just can't see why you would be with _me_ of all people when you could have anyone you want."

To say that John was surprised was an understatement. "What do you mean? I thought… I can't figure out what you see in _me_."

Rodney stared at him. "But… but you're…" he stuttered, and then he began to laugh, the painful hysterical laugh of someone who had been awake for two days and counting. John couldn't help but join in, letting all the tension and the worry just bleed away.

"Laura's right," John said finally, gasping for breath. "We're a pair of morons and we deserve each other."

Rodney sagged against his shoulder. "As long as you're _my_ moron," he said.

"Always," John answered.

Rodney let out a contented sigh, relaxed against John and closed his eyes. John wrapped his arms around him, relishing in the feel of Rodney's weight on top of him, the sound of Rodney's breathing, the smell of pepperoni and tomato sauce on him. The thought struck him how close he had been to throwing all this away, and suddenly it became very important to tell Rodney everything, even if it probably wouldn't make any sense. Maybe Rodney wouldn't understand, but he had to at least _try_.

"It's like I'm two different people," he began. "Here with you, I'm John. With them, I'm someone else. They expect me to be the same way I was before. But I'm not that person anymore and I don't know how to tell them that."

"It's okay," Rodney mumbled. "This is still new for you. I forget that sometimes. I just wish I could've been there for you."

"If it makes you feel any better," John said, nuzzling Rodney's neck. "You _were_ there. Every second."

* * *

The next time John heard from any of his old friends, it was a much happier occasion. It was in the middle of January and John woke up from the sound of his cell phone vibrating on the bedside table.

He couldn't think of anyone who would call him this late and thought about just shutting it off and going back to sleep. Then he remembered that one of the kids from the youth centre had run away from home two days earlier and picked up, wondering if Hal had heard any news and whether it was good or bad.

It turned out to be good news, but of a different kind. "It's a girl!" Hawk shouted on the other end of the line. "Seven pounds, six ounces and she's beautiful!"

John sat up in bed and checked the alarm clock, trying to figure out what time it was on the East Coast right now, and how long Hawk had been awake. "That's great," he said. "Congratulations. How's Meg doing?"

"Meg was wonderful, just wonderful! She says you have to come out here and see her. Shep, she's the most beautiful baby in the world!"

John smiled to himself. Hawk was not the first new father to utter those worlds. Then he looked over at Rodney, who had not woken up. He was snoring loudly, drooling a little on his pillow.

John took a deep breath and said, "Is it okay if I bring someone?"

 

\- fin –


End file.
